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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25563964">Ideological</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza'>emmaliza</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blake's 7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Porn, BDSM, Conflicted Loyalties, Dubious Consent, F/M, Flogging, Friends With Benefits Losing The Friendship, Naked Male Clothed Female, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s04e09 Sand, Un-Negotiated Kink, do not try this at home</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:41:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25563964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dayna is angry about Tarrant's dalliance with Servalan on Virn, and shows him as much. Tarrant has a past and a lot of conflicted emotions.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dayna Mellanby/Del Tarrant, background Tarrant/Servalan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ideological</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dayna is waiting on his bed when he gets back to his room. Under other circumstances, that might be a good thing, but right now it probably isn't. Tarrant raises his eyebrows at her and then turns to strip off his jacket without saying a word. This is his room, after all, he has every right to be here. If she wants to confront him it's up to her to start it.</p>
<p>"We need to talk."</p>
<p>"Do we?" Tarrant looks back over his shoulder to see her getting to her feet, not made any happier by him ignoring her. "I thought we'd said enough out on the flight deck. What did you have to add?"</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>Suddenly he's shoved roughly up against his own mirror, hissing as his head smacks against the glass pane. "You're disgusting," Dayna leans in to sneer in his face, with a look that would make Avon proud. Tarrant grows a little nervous. This is Dayna; it's not impossible she has a gun on her. "How could you, with her? Are you that desperate?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Tarrant swallows. Servalan's perfume, musky and dark like dying roses, still clings to his skin. "You wouldn't understand."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No, I don't." She slams him against the wall again. "So explain."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He hesitates. How can he? "Well, I–"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She slaps him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The force of it startles him, although the pain is fleeting. When he comes back to himself he sees her turn away from him, as if she's struggling to repress tears. Guilt churns through Tarrant's stomach. He doubts she'd listen if he told her this, but he really didn't <em>mean</em> to hurt her. He didn't think of how the others would react. He didn't think much at all. Typical, really, isn't it?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He tries to reach for her shoulder, but she pulls away sharply. Yes, he was expecting that. "Dayna–"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Get on your knees."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The order makes him blink, coming out of the blue as it does. His first instinct is to refuse, but if it will help the situation... With a sigh he slowly kneels upon the ground, and he can't help but smile as he does so. "Would that make you feel better? If I grovelled and begged forgiveness?" Surely she knows it's not in his nature to beg for anything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Facing him again, her hand slowly folds through his curls, and he shivers as her nails scratch his scalp. The gesture isn't meant to be soothing. She locks her fingers around his hair and pulls hard, making him hiss and grit his teeth. "It least I understand why <em>she </em>did it," she mutters bitterly. "You're pretty like this."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Tarrant would give Servalan credit and assume her motives were a little more complex than that, but now doesn't seem the right time to debate it. Dayna tugs roughly at his hair with both hands, pulling him forward until his brow rests against her stomach. With how much taller than her he is she can only loom above him by so much, even when he's on his knees, but the gesture is still intimidating. He squirms, face pressed against her skin, smelling something sharp and hot. "Dayna..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She kicks him back against the wall, leaving him reeling. "Take your clothes off," she commands before he's fully recovered. "Well? If it's on offer, I want some of what she had."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Tarrant hesitates. It's not that he's opposed to the idea of sleeping with Dayna - of course not - but doing so right now, with her in a blind fury toward him, is only going to make this disaster worse. Sex with Dayna has always been fun, playful, friendly - this is anything but. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She scoffs as he deliberates. "What? That woman was good enough to sleep with you, but I'm not?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>No. </em>Tarrant wants to tell her why they should not do this, that she doesn't want him, she only wants to show him how angry she is, and that's not a good reason to sleep with anything. He doesn't feel safe (<em>like you felt safe with Servalan?</em>). But the words don't come as she waits for his reply; he wants to make her feel better. "Alright."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She nods briskly at him and moves over to the bed, not watching as he hurriedly strips, not getting up from his knees. He watches her deal with a small panel at the front of her jumpsuit, baring just enough that she can do something, but not enough that he can see anything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Come here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Unafraid of his nudity, Tarrant starts to rise to his feet, but her glare sets him back down on his knees, wincing at how the floor rubs against his skin as he moves. It's humiliating, crawling to her on the ground like an animal, but he's not certain he doesn't deserve that humiliation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Once he's reached her she is not shy with him. Her strong hands grasp his curls again and she pulls him in close; he chokes as the taste of salt overwhelms his senses. Usually, he enjoys doing this. He's always been a show off, he likes to make women moan, make them pull his hair, make them cry his name as they come upon his tongue. Dayna doesn't seem inclined to do any of those things. She bites her lip and grunts as she slams his face against her cunt, and it takes him awhile to even remember how to breathe, let alone any technique he might use to make this good for her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You enjoy this, don't you?" she snarls it like an accusation, nails digging into his neck to leave marks. "Did you do it for her? You must have. She would have insisted."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Shame and arousal circling through his veins, Tarrant moans inside her. Servalan didn't insist on anything. She seemed impressed enough with him, even if he spent before her, but he wasn't willing to let any woman he was with go unsatisfied. She gasped as he kissed his way down her body, tasting his own semen where he spilt it, and it should have been disgusting but in the moment he just wanted to please her, to impress her, for her to love him, maybe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He is deliberate when he traces Dayna's clit with his tongue, and perhaps he's taking advantage; no-one but him has done this for her before, he knows how to make her feel good like nobody else does. She groans as she arches beneath his mouth, biting her lip. Slowly he moves a hand up to squeeze her thigh, and she flinches away from it as if burned. "Don't touch me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>Damn, what do you want then? </em>But he keeps going, getting lightheaded as he laps inside her. Despite what she says she keeps touching him, fingers running through his curls until he's almost soothed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He couldn't say how long it lasts. He's not brilliant at keeping track of time. But before long he can feel her shiver underneath him, nails digging into his scalp to repress a cry (which bothers him; he doesn't like to think of Dayna repressing anything). He keeps his lips pressed against her nub, kissing her greedily until she's finished. When he finally surfaces for air he knows he must look a mess – his face is red and blotchy, his curls are all at atangle, his chin is wet with her fluids. He wants to laugh at himself, but when he looks up at her she doesn't seem to see the funny side.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Get up."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He does so. He is, still, much taller than her, but it doesn't make him feel in control as much as you might expect. Hurriedly she refastens her jumpsuit, before eyeing the pile of clothing he left behind him. "Go grab your belt," she says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Tarrant bristles at the instruction. He's been told to do that before, and he knows what it leads to. "I'm not some misbehaving space cadet," <em>anymore</em>, but he runs to fetch it anyway. He thinks of that alien they met once, the one who wasn't Cally. <em>Would it be so terrible to serve me, Tarrant? Would it be so soul-destroying?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>When he hands her the belt Dayna runs her fingers across the leather smoothly, seeming comfortable with it in her hand. Of course she is; this primitive sort of weapon suits her better than anything. Tarrant hesitates. Eating her out was one thing but she could genuinely hurt him like this if she's not careful. And neither of them have ever been overencumbered with caution at the best of times.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So I suppose you want me over the bed then?" he asks, putting himself forward with bravado, as if he is doing this to himself and not just letting her do it, which makes him feel stronger, if not safer. She looks surprised by the question, but nods, so they switch places, her standing behind him weapon in hand, and himself spread facedown across his own mattress. It's humiliating, this posture of abject submission, but at least like this he can hide his expression and his erection in the covers.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She doesn't warn him before the first blow comes, but he's braced for it regardless, despite knowing that will only make it hurt worse. Adrenalin floods his veins as the pain rings through his body, a heady mix of fear and nostalgia following in its wake, going straight to his cock. "She's a monster, Tarrant. You <em>know </em>that. How could you forget?" Dayna spits at him as she lashes him rhythmically. <em>Oh, I didn't forget, </em>but he knows there's no way he could tell her that without making himself sound much worse.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He groans and gasps, digging his nails into the bedsheets not to embarrass himself, trying not to grind against the mattress. He wants to laugh. It's funny, to have her punish him for ideological straying the way his instructors would at the academy - it is to him at least. His mind goes fuzzy as the belt comes down on him again and again, one wound building on another until he knows he'll have bruises he'll need the med unit to fix. Everything is blurring together now, Dayna's taste on his lips and the echo of Servalan's nails against his skin, the memory of his instructor flogging him in front of the whole class to put the hotshot young pilot in his place; everyone he has ever tried to belong to and everything he has ever tried to build himself upon–</p>
</div><div>
  <p>When he comes it surprises even him, groaning weakly and wetly onto thin sheets. Dayna stops, and just by the shift in the air he can tell she's disgusted. The belt lands next to his head with a thud. "You're a <em>slut.</em>"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Tarrant recoils, both at the insult and just how little she understands him. So he lashes out. "Maybe so, but I've never used guilt and shame to make anyone go to bed with me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Looking up at her, he sees shock and horror penetrate her gaze. Of course, she hadn't thought of it like that before. Why should she? Dayna's world is really very simple. Servalan is the enemy, so she should be destroyed. He is her ally, so she should be able to rely on him. There is so much she could never understand - that the Federation to him is not just an enemy, but an addiction, something he has to fight to keep himself away from.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Dayna turns away again, wrapping her arms around herself childishly. "I'm headed back to my rooms," she says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You do that," Tarrant mutters, and does not move before she storms out. He sighs, running his fingers across the bedsheets, threads pulled lose under his fingernails. <em>Another thing broken then.</em></p>
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